


Ticking Down

by Senket



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark, Death, M/M, chose the survivor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-09
Updated: 2011-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senket/pseuds/Senket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on the <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/6487.html?thread=32963415#t32963415">prompt</a>: <em>How about a change-up of the, one-of-these-three-people-gets-to-live-y<em>our-choice scenarios. Lestrade must choose between Mycroft, Sherlock & John. Bonus points for Mystrade</em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Ticking Down

He can only hear ringing in his ears, staring dead ahead- a great noise like breathing grief.

Three cages in a row: Mycroft Holmes, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes. They're each bound tightly, thick gags knotted around their heads, their eyes trained on him. They're standing on trapdoors, nooses around their necks. He doesn't have a noose, just the cold barrel of an illegal gun pressed against his jugular.

He feels like his heart is trying to beat itself out of his chest. That way, it won't hurt as much when everything goes akilter.

"Two live, two die," the Irishman sang behind him. Three pairs of eyes flickered to the sauntering psychopath, but Lestrade's attention never wavered from the oldest. "Or you can all die together, really. It's your choice." He doesn't flinch away from the sudden breath on his cheek.

Mycroft meets his eye finally. He wants to choose him, wants so much to run to him and pull him down and wrap his arms around him and _never_ let go, he wants to kiss him and touch him and _feel_ him all the way down to his bones.

He knows what it'll do to Mycroft to live while his baby brother strangles beside him.

The image of his lover stars to blur, his eyes burning even as he refuses to look away. Mycroft looks calm, submitting, and that's the most hateful part. Lestrade knows what it'll do to _him_ , but he's not going to look away, not for a second.

"Sherlock Holmes," he chokes out, raw.

Jim Moriarty groans, complaining bitterly about utter predictability.

Gregory Lestrade watches Mycroft Holmes hang.

Moriarty's men release the chosen prisoner as their leader melts away. He hears Sherlock throw himself at the middle cage as John Watson meets a similar fate, howling with grief, feels it echo deep in him as he feels his heart burn up, hammering itself against his ribcage like it just wants to burst.

There is only one path to choose, he thinks, tears bleeding from his eyes. Sherlock is still screaming but he's not sure those are words, the sounds garbled into something inhuman, a great living grief.

There is only one path, there ever only was.

There are three cages in a row. He doesn't have a noose, but there's a cold barrel pressed his jugular. He hears a noise like breathing grief; Lestrade stares into his lover's eyes.


End file.
